you'reseeing her under circumstances that may make her seem more attractivethan she really is.
"She can't talk or hear. She never will. She doesn't have a larynx,and it wouldn't help if we gave her one. She simply doesn't have thenervous system necessary for speech or hearing. Her brain isdefinitely not structurally normal. As far as we're concerned, thatabnormality is not in the nature of a mutation. It's more like ananomaly. Once cleft palates were frequent--prenatal nutritionaldeficiencies or traumas. Occasionally we still run into cases likethat, but our surgical techniques are always adequate. Not with Nona,however.
"She can't be taught to read or write; we've tried it. We dug out theold Helen Keller techniques and brought them up to date with noresults. Apparently her mind doesn't work in a human fashion. Wequestion whether very much of it works at all."
"That might be a starting point," said Cameron. "If her brain--"
"Gland Opera stuff," interrupted Thorton. "Or Rhine Opera, if you'llpermit me to coin a term. We've thought of it, but it isn't true.We've tested her for every telepathic quality that the Rhine peoplelist. Again no results. She has no special mental capacities. Just tomake sure of that, we've given her periodic checkups. One last year,in fact."
Cameron frowned in frustration. "Then it's your opinion that she's notable to survive in a normal society?"
"That's it," answered the medicouncilor bluntly. "You'll have to facethe truth--you can't get rid of any of them."
"With or without their cooperation, I'll manage," said Cameron.
"I'm sure you will." The medicouncilor's manner didn't oozeconfidence. "Of course, if you need help we can send reinforcements."
The implication was clear enough. "I'll keep them out of trouble,"Cameron promised.
The picture and the voice were fading. "It's up to you. If it turnsout to be too difficult, get in touch with the Medicouncil...."
The robot operator broke in: "The ship is beyond direct telecom range.If you wish to continue the conversation, it will have to be relayedthrough the nearest main station. At present, that is Mars."
Aside from the time element, which was considerable, it wasn't likelythat he would get any better answers than he could supply for himself.Cameron shook his head. "We are through, thanks."
He got heavily to his feet. That wasn't a psychological reaction atall. He really was heavier. He made a mental note. He would have toinvestigate.
In a way they were pathetic--the patchwork humans, the half or quartermen and women, the fractional organisms masquerading as people--anillusion which died hard for them. Medicine and surgery were partly toblame. Techniques were too good, or not good enough, depending on theviewpoint.
Too good in that the most horribly injured person, if he were stillalive, could be kept alive! Not good enough because a percentage ofthe injured couldn't be returned to society completely sound andwhole. There weren't many like that; but there were some, and all ofthem were on the asteroid.
They didn't like it. At least they didn't like being _confined_ toHandicap Haven. It wasn't that they wanted to go back to the societyof the normals, for they realized how conspicuous they'd be among themultitudes of beautiful, healthy people on the planets.
What the accidentals did want was ridiculous. They desired, theyhoped, they petitioned to be the first to make the long, hard journeyto Alpha and Proxima Centauri in rockets. Trails of glory for thosethat went; a vicarious share in it for those who couldn't.
Nonsense. The broken people, those without a face they could calltheir own, those who wore their hearts not on their sleeves, but in ablood-pumping chamber, those either without limbs or organs--or toomany. The categories seemed endless.
The accidentals were qualified, true. In fact, of all the billions ofsolar citizens, _they alone could make the journey and return_. Butthere were other factors that ruled them out. The first point wasnever safe to discuss with them, especially if the second had to beexplained. It would take a sadistic nature that Cameron didn'tpossess.
* * * * *
Docchi sat beside the pool. It was pleasant enough, a pastoral scenetransplanted from Earth. A small tree stretched shade overhead. Waveslapped and made gurgling sounds against the sides. No plant life ofany kind grew and no fish swam in the liquid. It looked like water,but it wasn't. It was acid. In it floated something that monstrouslyresembled a woman.
"They turned us down, Anti," Docchi said bitterly.
"Didn't you expect it?" the creature in the pool asked.
"I guess I didn't."
"You don't know the Medicouncil very well."
"Evidently I don't." He stared sullenly at the faintly blue fluid."Why did they turn us down?"
"Don't you know?"
"All right, I know," he said. "They're pretty irrational."
"Of course, irrational. Let them be that way, as long as we don'tfollow their example."
"I wish I knew what to do," he said. "Cameron suggested we wait."
"Biocompensation," murmured Anti, stirring restlessly. "They've alwayssaid that. Up to now it's always worked."
"What else can we do?" asked Docchi. Angrily he kicked at an anemictuft of grass. "Draw up another request?"
"Memorandum number ten? Let's not be naive about it. Things get lostso easily in the Medicouncil's filing system."
"Or distorted," grunted Docchi.
"Maybe we should give the Medicouncil a rest. They're tired of hearingus anyway."
"I see what you mean," said Docchi, rising.
"Better talk to Jordan about it."
"I intend to. I'll need arms."
"Good. I'll see you when you leave for far Centauri."
"Sooner than that, Anti. Much sooner."
Stars were beginning to wink. Twilight brought out shadows and traceryof the structure that supported the transparent dome overhead. Sooncontrolled slow rotation would bring darkness to this side of theasteroid.
* * * * *
Cameron leaned back and looked speculatively at the gravital engineer,Vogel. The man could give him considerable assistance, if he would.There was no reason why he shouldn't; but any man who had voluntarilyremained on Handicap Haven as long as Vogel had was a doubtfulquantity.
"Usually we maintain about half Earth-normal gravity," Cameron said."Isn't that correct?"
Engineer Vogel nodded.
"It isn't important why those limits were set," Cameron continued."Perhaps it's easier on the weakened bodies of the accidentals. Theremay be economic factors."
"No reason for those limits except the gravital units themselves,"Vogel said. "Theoretically it should be easy to get any gravity youwant. Practically, though, we get between a quarter and almost fullEarth gravity. Now take the fluctuations. The gravital computer is setat fifty per cent. Sometimes we get fifty per cent and sometimesseventy-five. Whatever it is, it just is and we have to be satisfied."
The big engineer shrugged. "I hear the units were designed especiallyfor this asteroid," he went on. "Some fancy medical reason. Easier onthe accidentals to have less gravity change, you say. Me, I dunno. I'dguess the designers couldn't help it and the reason was dug up later."
Cameron concealed his irritation. He wanted information, not aheart-to-heart confession. "All practical sciences try to justifywhatever they can't escape but would like to. Medicine, I'm sure, isno exception." He paused thoughtfully. "Now, there are three separategravital units on the asteroid. One runs for forty-five minutes whilethe other two are idle. Then it cuts off and another takes over. Thisis supposed to be synchronized. I don't have to tell you that itisn't. You felt your weight increase suddenly at the same time I did.What is wrong?"
"Nothing wrong," said the engineer. "That's what you get withgravital."
"You mean they're supposed to run that way? Overlapping so that forfive minutes we have Earth or Earth-and-a-half gravity and then none?"
"It's not _supposed_ to be that way," said Vogel. "But nobody everbuilt a setup like this
that worked any better." He added defensively:"Of course, if you want, you can check with the company that makesthese units."
"I'm not trying to challenge your knowledge, and I'm not anxious tomake myself look silly. I have a sound reason for asking thesequestions. There is a possibility of sabotage."
The engineer's grin was wider than the remark seemed to require.
"All right," said Cameron tiredly. "Suppose you tell me why sabotageis so unlikely."
"Well," explained the gravital engineer, "it would have to be someoneliving here, and he wouldn't like it if he suddenly got double ortriple gravity or maybe none at all. But there's another reason. Nowtake a gravital unit. Any gravital unit. Most people think of it asjust that--a unit. It isn't really that at all. It has three parts.
"One part is a power source that can be anything as long as it's bigenough. Our power source is a nuclear pile, buried deep in theasteroid. You'd have to take Handicap Haven apart to get to it. Parttwo is the gravital coil, which actually produces the gravity and issimple and just about indestructible. Part three is the gravitalcontrol. It calculates the relationship between the amount of powerflowing through the gravital coil and the strength of the createdgravity field in any one microsecond. It uses the computedrelationship to alter the power flowing through in the nextmicrosecond to get the same gravity. No change of power, no gravity. Iguess you could call the control unit a computer, as good a one as ismade for any purpose."
The engineer rubbed his chin. "Fatigue," he continued. "The gravitalcontrol is an intricate computer that's subject to fatigue. That's whyit has to rest an hour and a half to do forty-five minutes of work.Naturally they don't want anyone tinkering with it. It'snon-repairable. Crack the case open and it won't work. But first youhave to open it. Mind you, that can be done. But I wouldn't want totry it without a high-powered lab setup."
If it didn't seem completely foolproof, neither did it seem a likelysource of trouble. "Then we can forget about the gravital units," saidCameron, arising. "But what about hand weapons? Are there anyavailable?"
"You mean toasters?"
"Anything that's lethal."
"Nothing. No knives even. Maybe a stray bar or so of metal." Vogelscratched his head. "There is something dangerous, though. Dangerousif you know how to take hold of it."
Instantly Cameron was alert. "What's that?"
"Why, the asteroid itself. You can't physically touch any part of thegravital unit. But if you could somehow sneak an impulse into thecomputer and change the direction of the field...." Vogel was verygrave. "You could pick up Handicap Haven and throw it anywhere youwanted. At the Earth, say. Thirty miles in diameter is a big hunk ofrock."
It was this kind of information Cameron was looking for, though theengineer seemed to regard the occasion as merely a social call. "Isthere any possibility of that occurring?" he asked quietly.
The engineer grinned. "Never happened, but they're ready for thingslike that with any gravital system. They got monitor stations allover--the moons of Jupiter, Mars, Earth, Venus.
"Any time the gravital computer gets dizzy, the monitor overrides it.If that fails, they send a jammer impulse and freeze it up tight. Itwon't work until they let loose."
Cameron sighed. He was getting very little help or information fromVogel. "All right," he said. "You've told me what I wanted to know."
He watched the engineer depart for the gravity-generating chamber farbelow the surface of the asteroid.
* * * * *
The post on Handicap Haven wasn't pleasant; it wasn't an experience anormal human would desire. It did have advantages--advancement came insizes directly proportional to the disagreeableness of the place.
Ten months to go on a year's assignment. If Cameron could survive thatperiod with nothing to mar his administration, he was in line forbetter positions. A suicide or any other kind of unpleasantness thatwould focus the attention of the outside world on the forgottenasteroid was definitely unwelcome.
He flipped on the telecom. "Rocket dome. Get me the pilot."
When the robot finally answered, it wasn't encouraging. "I'm sorry.There is no answer."
"Then trace him," he snapped. "If he's not in the rocket dome, he's inthe main dome. I want you to get him at once."
A few seconds of silence followed. "There is no record of the pilotleaving the rocket dome."
His heart skipped; with an effort he spoke carefully. "Scan the wholearea. Understand? You've got to find him."
"Scanning is not possible. The system is out of operation in thatarea."
"All right," he said, starting to shake. "Send out repair robots."They were efficient in the sense they always did the work they wereset to do, but not in terms of speed.
"The robots were dispatched as soon as scanning failed to work. Arethere any other instructions?"
He thought about that. He needed help, plenty of it. Vogel? He'd beready and willing, but that would leave the gravity-generating setupunprotected. Better do without him.
Who else? The sour old nurse who'd signed up because she wanted quickcredits toward retirement? Or the sweet young thing who had bravelyvolunteered because someone ought to help those poor unfortunate men?Not the women, of course. She had a bad habit of fainting when she sawblood. Probably that was why she couldn't get a position in a regularplanetary hospital.
That was all, except the robots, who weren't much help in a case likethis. That and the rocket pilot. For some reason he wasn't available.
The damned place was under-manned. Always had been. Nobody wanted tocome except the mildly psychotic, the inefficient and lazy, or,conceivably, an ambitious young doctor like himself. Mentally, Cameronberated the last category. If anything serious happened here, such adoctor might end his career bandaging scratches at a children'splayground.
"Instructions," he said. "Yes. Leave word in gravity-generating forVogel. Tell him to throw everything he's got around the units. Watchthem."
"Is that all?"
"Not quite. Send six general purpose robots. I'll pick them up at theentrance to the rocket dome."
"Repair robots are already in that area. Will they do as well?"
"They will not. I want geepees for another reason." They wouldn't bemuch help, true, but the best he could manage.
* * * * *
Docchi waited near the rocket dome. Not hiding, merely inconspicuousamong the carefully nurtured shrubbery that was supposed to give theillusion of Earth. If the plants failed in that respect, at least theycontributed to the oxygen supply of the asteroid.
"Good girl," said Docchi. "That Nona is wonderful."
Jordan could feel him relax. "A regular mechanical marvel," he agreed."But we can gas about that later. Let's get going."
Docchi glanced around and then walked boldly into the passageway thatconnected the main dome with the much smaller, adjacent rocket dome.Normally, it was never dark in the inhabited parts of the asteroid; amodulated twilight was considered more conducive to the slumber of thehandicapped. But it wasn't twilight as they neared the rocket dome--itwas a full-scale rehearsal for the darkness of interplanetary space.
Docchi stopped before the emergency airlock which loomed solidly infront of them. "I hope Nona was able to cut this out of the circuit,"he said anxiously.
"She understood, didn't she?" asked Jordan. He reached out and thegreat slab moved easily aside in its grooves. "The trouble with you isthat you lack confidence."
Docchi, listening with a frown, didn't answer.
"Okay, I hear it, too," whispered Jordan. "We'd better get well insidebefore he reaches us."
Docchi walked rapidly into the darkness of the rocket dome. He allowedhis face to become faintly luminescent, the one part of his alteredmetabolism that he had learned to control, when he wasn't underemotional strain.
He was nervous now, but his control had to be right. Enough light sothat he'd be noticed, not so much that details of his appearance wouldbe plain
.
The footsteps came nearer, accompanied by a steady volume ofprofanity. Docchi flashed his face once and then lowered the intensityalmost immediately.
The footsteps stopped. "Docchi?"
"No. Just a lonely little light bulb out for an evening stroll."
The rocket pilot's laughter wasn't altogether friendly. "I know it'syou. I meant, what are you doing here?"
"I saw the lights in the rocket dome go out. The entrance was open, soI came in. Maybe I can help."
"They're off, all right. Everything. Even the standby system." Therocket pilot moved closer. The deadly little toaster was in his hand."You can't help. You'd better get out. It's against regulations foryou to be in here."
Docchi ignored the weapon. "What happened? Did a meteor strike?"
The pilot grunted. "Not likely." He peered intently at the
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